Blues

Dylan's POV: My Blue Heaven Pt. 1

"You look like shit." Melissa remarks, evidently trying to make small talk and disguise the fact that she came here without being whistled for. If there is one thing that I make clear to the women I hook up with, it is that I don't like abrupt, spur-of-the-moment visits, especially when they are paid by an unwanted guest.

She didn't lie, I will give her that. I look like utter shit, reeking of the repulsive, putrid smell of the alcohol I kept guzzling down last night, fused with the nicotine I squander my health and hygiene on. My clothes stink of the sweat I forgot to wash away yesterday, after a brutal workout session that failed to decimate the debilitating thoughts Candice is responsible for.

I am a walking corpse, and I still can't determine what hit me: her careless blunder, or the fact that I can't function without her.

My demons are rising above the pinnacle of my sanity, and she is the only one who is capable of striking them down.

But she is not here, and I am the one who drove her away.

I shouldn't regret it. I should exhale a sigh of relief for getting rid of her liability and the way she subdues my head and makes it spin like a fucking steering wheel.

But I do, and all I can think of is how I want to have her in my arms once more, to bulldoze her slip-up behind us and start anew.

I am so fucking miserable, with and without her presence.

Shaking my head, I shove my thoughts of her to the back of my head, focusing on the drawback in hand. "What do you want?" I ask, my voice curt, and I don't miss the way Melissa shrinks in her seat, my tone agitating her even more.

I've never had a filter, and if I can't control what goes out of my mouth with Candice, then I won't bother with anyone else.

"I came to talk to you about something." She answers, her voice faltering. "Do you have a few minutes?"

No, I don't have the minutes, or the energy to talk to her or anyone else, but judging by the look in her eyes, I ascertain that it's urgent. "Wait here. I'll shower and come back." I order, and she immediately nods, her head slightly hanging with submission.

Her hesitancy and obedience don't nail me anywhere; if anything, they nauseate me, reminding me of the way Candice is always hell-bent on defying me and hijacking my marbles, and how it maddens me, yet still makes me ache for her even more.

Waltzing into my bathroom, I strip of my repellent clothes, before I step under the rippling flow of the cold water, feeling it as it washes away the swelter covering my skin, and with it the sleepiness cloaking my gaze.

The water succeeds at refreshing me and keeping my eyes open, and the toothpaste works the foul taste of alcohol and smoke loose.

But my brain? It stays completely and utterly numb.

Shoving my limbs into a pair of sweatpants and shirt, I walk out of my room, following Melissa's voice. Who is she talking to? I muse, strolling out of the hallway, only to find her standing by the door, wearing one of my shirts. What the hell? "What are you..." I hasten to ask, before I trail off, rendered speechless upon seeing Candice and the hurt look on her face.

I put that devastated look on her face, and I want to rot in hell for it.

"Candice?" I find myself saying, flabbergasted and incredulous at the same time. After going off at her and embarrassing her more than once, I never expected her to rebel against her ego and come to see me.

"Uh—" Her lips part, and I behold the upshot of her seeing Melissa in my shirt all over her face; a combination of disbelief and distress that makes me long to hold her, to pacify her shock and demystify the nasty situation. "I came here to say something, but I guess it doesn't matter." She divulges, saying exactly what I see in her eyes. She came to make things right, and everything was ruined the moment she saw Melissa in my apartment, wearing nothing but my shirt. "I'll uh- leave now." She repeatedly nods, appearing to be unaware of the movement.